All of Time and Space
by MissNessarose
Summary: 440 Drabbles with varying Doctors, characters, and themes. Throughout all of his travels, the Doctor certainly has some very interesting moments and adventures. Have a look and see a few! (Pairings and warnings vary from drabble to drabble and will be noted at the start of each chapter/drabble).
1. 1: Violin (Eight)

(So, here's the rules for this little piece, before we start, which won't take up that much time: these are a series of 440 drabbles, which have been divided randomly between the 11 Doctors. The drabble does not necessarily have to have that Doctor IN it, really just anyone from that era, so I'm not writing the same character repeatedly. The Doctor era used will be noted when the prompt is listed. Topics, pairings, characters, and such will vary, but I'll be sure to note any possible warnings at the start of each drabble. I'm posting these in order, and I'll try to get them all done as soon as I can.

All characters are Doctor Who-related, and not owned by me.

So, here we go! Have fun and enjoy~)

* * *

1: Violinist (or Violin): Eight

He wonders why she listens to it so much, and it's then that he realizes how beautiful the music is when she's

the one playing. (Grace/8)

* * *

Grace likes the opera, he notes to himself as he sits in her home (the front room void of furniture due to a particular "Brian" that he doesn't think he'll bring up), looking at the stack of records and tapes in one corner of the room. Among those, several violin pieces and concertos—and one that he remembers partially writing himself—stand out to him, slipped in among the stack here and there in a sort of haphazard way.

But then they're running for the one and only time, and he doesn't see those tapes ever again. If he'd cared to ask which one was her favorite, maybe he'd send her the sheet music for her birthday.

* * *

Time flies all too fast, and in 2009 when he's dropped Charley off for a minute, praying that she won't cause trouble for just a few minutes without him, he decides that it's time to pay Miss Holloway an overdue visit.

She's moved, yes, but not too far away, and almost regrets not being back to check in on her sooner, wondering what's changed since their run with the Master what seems like ages ago. It's a simple enough house, he estimates, painted a powder blue, two stories, maybe two or three bedrooms, and a nice fenced-in-backyard. She's probably married, then, he thinks, and freezes at the plastic ball thrown aside in the front yard.

Maybe she's got a dog, the Doctor wonders...or kids?

Either way, it's mid-day, so her husband probably isn't home. Stupidly straightening his jacket and running a hand messily through his hair, he raises a fist to knock on the door.

And freezes. It's spring, mildly warm out, and the front windows of the house are open. There's music, classical, playing, and it's too real to be from a recording. A quick peek through the glass panels at the top of the door show a modest living room with a plush couch and several throw rugs, a piano in the corner. A young girl sits on the bench, her legs too short to hit the pedals, or even reach the ground, and a woman stands beside her, a violin tucked under her chin. She stops to give the girl some direction, and he can hear them talking for a moment, laughing, before she disappears into the conjoined kitchen, leaving the girl alone at the piano.

Taking a breath, he knocks. The girl looks up suddenly, her long hair falling into her eyes. She wiggles off of the bench, and pads silently across the wooden flooring to the door, reaching on her tiptoes to open the knob.

"Hello?"

She only comes up to his hips, her hair rather straight, a sort of gingery blonde that he's only seen a few other times in his travels. Grace is confused when she comes back into the living room, balancing a tray of sandwiches and two glasses of lemonade.

"Emma, where—"

Seeing the girl by the door, she rushes up behind her, almost alarmed.

"Honey, don't do that, did you even see who it—"

And the words die on Grace's lips when she sees the man at her door, and she pulls the girl closer to her with one hand. "It's you.'

The Doctor is all too happy to see that she's okay and doing well, but he's not sure what this reaction means from her. The girl between them hugs on the hem of Grace's top, her wide eyes full of wonder.

"Mama, what...?"

"Go have your lunch, honey. This is a friend of mine. I'll be there in a minute."

Her daughter is satisfied with this, and goes to pull herself up onto the couch, a sandwich clasped in her hands. Grace steps out onto the patio with him, closing the front door behind them. As soon as it's shut, she turns on him, and he thinks that she might him for a moment, but she stays silent.

"It's been nine years," Grace sighs, looking him over. "You haven't changed."

He eyes her in the same manner, and smiles. "You have."

And she has: her hair is much longer than he remembers her keeping it, and it hangs well past her elbows. She's matured a little, if anything, looking much happier and more confident than before, a few inches taller, a few minor shades tanner.

"You don't know how much I wanted to go with you," she confesses, refusing to look him in the eyes.

"You could've said yes. I wouldn't have minded, Grace."

"But I had to think about things realistically, you know. I had a life to try and get back to, I don't think I could've handled it if I'd gone with, but I wish I had, and..."

She frowns then, looking at him with a bit of a scowl. It must have been hard, he knows.

"You have a daughter now?"

Her expression melts almost instantly into a smile, and she nods. "Emma. She's seven."

"You're married?"

"Yes."

Their conversation stalls again, and he didn't think that it would be _this _hard.

"I've missed you, Grace," he admits, almost shyly, and she looks back down at the patio, thinking hard and then softening when she thinks for a moment.

"I've missed you, too."

And he feels terrible when he kisses her on the patio furniture, but her daughter isn't watching, and she has no complaints to make.

* * *

"Emma, this is a friend of mine," she tells her daughter when she finally invites him into the house.

The girl waves, finishing off a sandwich triangle, but says nothing. He crouches beside the couch at the young girl's height, and holds a hand out to her, eyeing Grace cautiously to see if it's okay.

"I'm the Doctor," he tells her. "Would you like a surprise?"

Emma's eyes light up almost immediately, and she nods, pressing her tiny hand into his. He doesn't let her go into the TARDIS—knowing how children talk, and not wishing Grace to get into trouble with this husband of hers—but makes the girl close her eyes when he comes back, pressing the paper bag into her tiny hands.

She opens the bag quickly, sticking one hand in and pulling it back full of candy.

"Candy?" she asks him, with the soft gaze only a child could have.

"What is it?" Grace asks, coming down off of the front porch. He reaches into the bag and takes one of the candies, pressing it into Grace's hands.

"Jelly baby, Grace?"

And she laughs, smiling when she pops it into her mouth.

"Always."


	2. 2: Insomniac (One)

2: Insomniac: One

Dodo can't sleep, and goes to Steven. He can't really tell her no. (Dodo/Steven)

* * *

This whole mess they've gone through today is like any other: plans to have a nice, relaxing trip for once, and then the three of them are all involved in some scandal, political concern, or world war, and then they're heroes by the end of the day.

After several attempts on their lives, and _someone _being held at gunpoint, of course.

Now that today's escapade is over, Steven has a new respect for those western movies that used to be so popular. They're not as easy as the shows make it look. His room is relatively small in the TARDIS, with a sort of top-of-the-bunk-bed high up against the wall, a little desk crammed underneath where a lower bunk should be. He climbs the ladder up to the rather large bed, and folds back the several thick blankets that he's layered together—the air conditioning has gone haywire and left the TARDIS in what seems like the middle of winter—to climb in. The bed is almost too large for him to have all to himself, and he stretches lazily across it, tapping the wall with one finger to turn the light off.

Comfortable, he closes his eyes and sleeps.

* * *

On the contrary, she doesn't.

In her own room, which could be in a variety of relations of space to his, depending on whether the TARDIS has been bored recently, or has decided to change hallways on her on an absolute whim, she wakes up in a tangle of unshed tears, a mess of blankets, and a vague whisper of dreams that have pushed her to absolute terror.

Dorothea sits up sharply, and blinks back the tears that didn't fall, sniffing and untangling herself from the thick blankets and shivering as she remembers the feel of the gun against her head. She shouldn't be afraid, but she could feel the tension in his grip as he held her there, and knew that he really _would _shoot if he'd wanted to.

She doesn't like the Wild West anymore, really. There's no clock in her room—most likely because the TARDIS is in the middle of a time vortex, and what is time to them when they're here in between dimensions?—but she feels like it's far too early in the morning, and that she hasn't slept for very long. She knows she won't sleep for awhile now.

So she gets up and goes exploring.

* * *

"Steven?"

It's a hushed whisper as she tugs on the blankets wrapped around him, having found his room some halls away after around an hour and a half of desperate searching (the TARDIS hadn't moved her room this time, but she _had _moved his).

She stands on her tiptoes, trying to reach up to the loft that his spacious, almost circular bed is on, and he snorts and stirs lazily, tugging the blankets back out of her grip.

"Whazzit?"

Dorothea sniffs and steps onto the top rung, peering over the edge of the bed in the darkness. She almost laughs, because his near-impeccable hair is mussed with sleep. He raises a hand to rub his eyes, and gazes at the ceiling. She bites her lip for a minute, and then scrambles up the ladder before he can protest, peeling back the sheets and sliding in beside him.

"What are you _doing?" _he asks, and she shuts her eyes tight, snuggling up next to him.

"I don't want to be alone."

Steven sighs, and readjusts the blankets, tucking them around her and folding his arm over her body underneath the warm layers. She's cold from her wanderings to get here, but she's shivering for a complete different reason. He holds her close.

"You'll never be alone, Dodo," he tells her. "Dorothea. I'll be right here if you need me."

She smiles, nodding against his chest.

"Okay."

* * *

(Note: This is one of my newer ships, and so I felt like I should write something about it. Another note that the whole forcing-herself-into-his-bed (the way I see it, at least), was less of an "I'm scared" and more of a "You can't stop me I do what I want" gesture. And maybe the nightmares were a new thing for her, and maybe they weren't. I just know that when I was freaked out as a kid, it was always better to go and find someone, I guess.)


	3. 3: Paper Airplanes (Two)

3: Paper Airplanes: Two

-In which Ben & Polly decide to play post office across the TARDIS console. (Ben/Polly)

* * *

_Hello, Ben. _

_Rather nice aeroplane, don't you think? You should send a note back._

_-Polly_

Dear Polly,

I can't seem to fold these things right. How come yours looked so nice and mine's so...wrinkly? It's bad enough to throw it off course a little, so I apologize that you had to get up to grab it. Guess I'll have to keep trying.

-Ben.

_Dear Ben, _

_Not a problem. These things are stupidly difficult. You should stop throwing planes and come to sit by me before the Doctor realizes that we're not really working on anything he's told us to. _

_Personally, all of this categorizing and filing reminds me too much of work back home. _

_Yuck._

_-Polly_

Dear Poll,

I'm surprised he _hasn't _noticed, really.

Throwing paper aeroplanes across the console room really isn't too discreet.

And what if I don't want to sit by you? I like sending you notes. If it bothers you so bad, you should come over by me.

-Ben

_Dear Stubborn boy,_

_Stop arguing and get over here! If I send many more of these I think I'll wind up with a paper cut._

_-Annoyed girl_

Dear Annoyed girl,

I think you're awful pretty when you scowl like that

-Interested suitor

_Dear not getting lucky,_

_Sorry, but no thanks. _

_-Uninterested lady_

Dear lovely lady,

Come and sit by me, or I'll come over there.

Don't make me come over there.

-Handsome gent

_Dear handsome, _

_Or what? _

_-Looking to make you mad_

Dear Polly,

Sit still after the next note and you'll find out.

-Ben

_Dear Ben,_

_You just watch me._

_-Feeling dangerous_

After that, the notes stopped. Crumpling Polly's paper plane in one hand, Ben laid face-down on the ground and inched his way across the console room floor, trying not to attract the Doctor's attention where the older man lay, buried underneath the main controls.

He made it to the other side of the circular room, and sat beside Polly with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"So, what's your _'or else'?" _she asked him, teasing.

Grinning, Ben kissed her hard before she could object.

And honestly, Polly really didn't mind.


	4. 4: Dandelion (Three)

4. Dandelion: Three

-The field outside of UNIT HQ is full of dandelions, fluffy and white, and various other flowers of all shades and types. Jo has allergies and feels dead inside. (3/Jo)

* * *

"Jo, how's the other experiment going?"

She's sitting on the stool across the lab, seated before some test or other with a clipboard on the counter before her, but she can't read a word that it says. Her eyes are watering, her head feels heavy, and her nose completely stuffed, and the windows are open wide to the spring breeze that's coming through.

"Jo?"

"Whazzit?" she asks, shaking her head and sniffing. "Can't hear you."

The Doctor looks up, slightly concerned, and crosses over to her, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"Jo, are you alright?" he asks, looking her over.

"'m fine," she sniffs, and sneezes, falling halfway off of the stool before he catches her and sets her right again.

"Are you sick?"

She shrugs. "Allergies. I get 'em all the time. I'll be fine. What did you want?" She sneezes again, and he confiscates her clipboard.

"Go and lie down, you should rest if you're sick. I need to go and get some samples over by that polluted lake, so stay here," the Doctor directs, grabbing his coat off of the nearby chair.

"I'll come with you," Jo insists, standing up a bit shakily. "I'll be fine."

He's about to protest, but he knows how stubborn she can be at times. Though he would advise against her coming along, he holds the door open for her anyways.

* * *

She's just standing there, holding a variety of wildflowers for him. This is not where she wants to be right now.

"Do you...do you want—" she sneezes, and drops half of the flowers she's holding onto the ground, "—want me to...get some of the dandelions too?"

She hopes that she won't sneeze all of the seeds off of those, either.

The Doctor stands as he seals the test tube in his hands, and removes his glove to raise one hand against her forehead again. She's warmer than before, and he frowns, taking all of the flowers from her.

"Go back to the car," he tells her sternly, nodding over his shoulder back to where they've parked Bessie in the field. "And try and lie down. Get some rest, Jo."

She frowns, shaking her head slightly, and he persists.

"That's an _order, _Miss Grant."

She finally gives in and nods, making her way silently across the field, taking off her coat and spreading it across her as she lies down in the back.

When the Doctor gets back, nicely arranging all of his samples in the passenger seat, he adjusts Jo's coat to make sure she's warm as she sleeps.

* * *

She wakes up in one corner of the lab with a near-threadbare blanket tucked in around her, and her coat folded up as a pillow underneath her head. On the lab counter next to her is a still-hot mug of tea, a box of tissues, and several novels, a note slid underneath one corner of the mug, its message in sloppy black pen.

_Jo—_

_Had to run out for another set of samples. Stay put. Don't try to work while I'm gone. I got you a few books in case you wake up before I get back, and there's some honey in the tea for you. Try and get some more sleep._

_-The Doctor_


	5. 5: Feather (Four)

5: Feather (Four)

-He's tied a feather to a string as a sort of toy, or lure of sorts. Leela is enthralled...or, not really.

* * *

"Can you _not?" _Leela frowns, sitting cross-legged and facing the wall away from him. The Doctor, cleaning out the storage closet just off the first hallway, has found various items of craft-like intentions, and has tied a string to a wooden rod, and attached a feather to the end of the string. He has amused himself with the toy by idly dangling it in front of Leela's face because he knows that she _wants _to bat it, and swat it, and mess with it, to tear it off of the rod, but she can't because she's just a half of a second too slow.

He'd given her an old Rubix Cube earlier to play with, and she sits as far away from him as she can to avoid the feather and string game he's playing.

And he's at it again.

"Doctor, stop!" she howls in frustration, picking up the cube in her hands and crawling on her knees and elbows some feet away to resume the puzzle distraction-free. "I just got the blue side done, leave me alone!"

"Well, you still have to get the other sides done, too," he tells her, and she scowls, twisting a few more sides. After a minute, her face lights up, and she grins.

"I got the green side!" she cries, ecstatic, and then turns the cube over in her hands to find that the blue side is no longer whole, but only half done. "Oh..."

She frowns, tongue sticking just out in harsh concentration until the feather dangles just in front of her face, and she drops the cube trying to bat the feather out of her face. It's just out of reach, and it dances about before her. Leela frowns, and blows it out of the way, turning to glare at him.

"Stop it!"

"But you're having so much fun with it!"

"I am not!" she frowns, pounding one fist into the floor. She turns on him with a shifty glare, on her hands and knees, and pounces, tackling him and prying the feather toy out of his grip.

"Leela, don't!" He's laughing, despite his warning tone, and she snaps the wooden rod in half, pulling the feather apart and scattering it across the floor.

"There," she says proudly, and paces back to her side of the room, plopping down ungracefully and resuming her fight with the Rubix Cube, getting the yellow side done only to find that she's ruined the other two sides in the process.

She works at it for another five minutes and lets out a howl of frustration, throwing the cube at the wall.

Leela sits, fuming, for a little while longer until a new feather is being dangled in her face.

"I would appreciate it, Doctor, if you would kindly stop messing with me!" she pouts, crossing her arms and turning away from him. With a sly smile, he creeps up behind her, close enough to dangle the rod over her head, the feather hanging in her face. Her eyes are closed and she does not notice until it tickles her nose, and she sneezes.

"Doctor!"

He's won, this time.


	6. 6: She Sings (Eleven)

6: She sings (Eleven)

-River's sick, and Amy (somehow) winds up taking care of her. She does what any other mother would do.

* * *

As usual, he lands the TARDIS—as informally as ever—in the middle of their backyard (last time, a flowerbed had been destroyed in the process, but the empty garden is now covered by a layer of snow).

Amy's at the back door the instant she hears the materialization happen, the sliding glass door open despite the chill she's letting into the house.

"Doctor!" she runs out into the snow to see him, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her to fight off the cold. "Did you come for a visit?"

He brushes off his coat rather nicely. "No, actually. I'm dropping something off for a little while, but I had some trouble getting here—took me three tries, I wound up two galaxies over, and—"

A sheep with shiny golden horns and a lime green coat honks loudly behind him, slipping by and stepping out into their snow-covered garden. Quickly, he ushers it back into the TARDIS, the sheep honking irritably in the background.

"Sorry about that," he apologizes as the furious honking dies down.

Amy smiles. "So, what exactly are you leaving? Is It dangerous? You know, the last time you tried something like this, Rory almost lost his—"

"I _know," _the Doctor groans. "I still feel guilty about it, there is no need to remind me. This one's only mildly dangerous, I _promise." _

She's a little unsure as to whether she should accept or decline this (as if he'd listen if she declined, anyway), but he disappears back into the TARDIS before she can object any further to the matter. He leaves the door open, and comes back after a few moments.

He steps into the snowy garden, carrying River in his arms.

"I brought you your daughter," he says, almost proudly. She doesn't look _hurt, _necessarily, but she _does _look like a mess—her hair tangled (more so than normal), her nose red and raw, her complexion a pasty sort of pale. She rests like a child in the Doctor's arms, sleeping soundlessly in a tank top, flannel pants, and wrapped in a thick shawl.

"Is she okay?" Amy asks quickly, almost alarmed.

"She's fine," he tells her, almost upset that she could even _think _he'd let harm come to River. "Just sick—only a cold. However, I've got a few things to take care of, and I'd feel better if she was here. Safe."

Amy is quiet for a second, and she can feel the snow beginning to fall lightly, powdering her hair. She turns away to open the sliding door. "Could you put her down on the couch?"

River wakes up two hours later face-down in the pillow and her hair sticking out all over the place as Amy comes out to set a hot mug of tea on the coffee table for her.

"Oh, you're awake!"

"What happened?" River asks, pressing a hand to her forehead as she sits up. "I feel terrible."

"You're sick," Amy tells her, as she pushes her daughter back down on the sofa. "And you're not going anywhere, so don't you even think about it. You're going to stay here, and I'm going to take care of you."

River's staring at her with this strange, confused look, but then she smiles. "Alright."

* * *

For someone with a cold, she sleeps surprisingly easily—as Amy only knows how difficult it is—and so she lets River sleep for the night, and doesn't disrupt her, reprimanding Rory when he comes home from an extra shift rather noisily, for fear that he might wake her.

She thinks she's done a rather good job playing 'mom' for the day.

When River wakes up at three in the morning tangled in the blankets, crying out in the dark at people and images and evils that aren't there, Amy runs downstairs to her side faster than she thought she could run. And River doesn't cry, because this is very routine for her, these nightmares. She sits up and removes herself from the blankets, straightening them despite the fact that her hands are shaking.

"Are you okay?" Amy asks softly as she sits down in the armchair.

"I'm fine," is the harsh reply, and River doesn't meet her eyes, lying back down on the couch. "If I'm lucky, I'll be able to sleep again. Do you have any cold medicine?"

Amy thinks, and remembers that there's that one kind on the second shelf of the medicine cupboard with the sleep medication mixed in, and it's one that she uses when she's sick frequently. However, she doesn't know if giving that to a half-Time Lord is really the best of ideas.

"None that I'm sure you could take," she says. "Sorry."

"It's alright. I'll just be awake for a little while longer."

Amy kneels beside the sofa, and does what she knows her own mother did when she herself couldn't sleep as a child.

She sings, and River sleeps.

* * *

The Doctor comes to pick her up in the morning, and manages to stay for some of Rory's—fantastic, by the way—pancakes before leaving. When River's been ushered back into the TARDIS, sniffing a little less and looking a little happier and more ready to kill something (as usual), he stays behind to talk to Amy.

"She wasn't any trouble, was she?" he asks, almost concerned, and Amy laughs, slapping his shoulder.

"She was fine! You act like I wouldn't be able to handle her!"

"Well, you didn't last time."

"I'm her mother," she says plainly. "She was fine. Slept...well, most of the night."

He nods, because he knows, and gives a little sigh. "What time?"

"Three in the morning. I take it this is a regular thing?"

The Doctor stalls, and doesn't meet her gaze. "Most of the time. Did she go back to sleep?"

"Ten minutes after that."

He's surprised by that. "What did you do, drug her? She never does that! How did you do that?"

And Amy smiles, and doesn't tell him. "Call it a mother's touch, if you will."

* * *

(Now, I was actually a little hesitant for writing this one, but I'm trying to do more of these in order to post as many as I can so you guys will have a full 440 fics to read! (I know people mostly search for complete fictions, because I do the same thing) Anywho, I've watched series 5 and 6, so I should have a feel for these characters, but they're so wonderful and complex that it's a little hard to write.

However, I'm relatively happy at how this one turned out. Lots of fluff!)


	7. 7: Toes (Five)

7: Toes (Five)

-Tegan's looking for nail polish, but finds it a shock that Nyssa doesn't know what it is! As a friend, she offers

to do Nyssa's nails for her. Adric also wants in on the party.

* * *

The Doctor's out for the moment, and Adric is showing her one of the newest books on astrophysics that he's found in the TARDIS library when Tegan comes into the console room, her bare feet falling silently on the cold flooring.

"Nyssa, do you know if there's any nail polish in one of the bathrooms? I've checked the cupboards of the three in the next two halls, but I can't find any," she says, frowning. Nyssa looks up from the book, blinking in confusion.

"What?"

"Nail polish," Tegan says slowly, miming the brush over her other hand, then holding up one palm and wiggling her fingers. "You know, painting my nails? I want to do my toes, too, but there's no polish around. Have you seen any?"

When Nyssa doesn't answer, still looking a bit unsure of the question, Tegan remembers that they might not even have manicures on Traken, and her jaw drops.

"Don't tell me you've never had your nails done before!"

Nyssa gives her a very blank stare. "Is this one of your Earthen customs?"

Tegan frowns and immediately drags the girl into their shared bedroom, sitting her down on the floor. "Oh, we're fixing this, and we're fixing this _now. _Maybe I still have a bottle of the red in my bag," she says, and pulls her purse out from under her bed, rummaging through the items to pull five bottles, all half-used, from her bag.

"Well, it's not much, but we'll have to make do. I've got red, purple, green, silver, and...more purple. Sit still and try not to move," she directs a surprised Nyssa, who is more than a little startled and confused at the situation.

Tegan grins and holds up the bottles.

"Now, which color do you want?"

* * *

The Doctor turns his key in the lock, a porcelain teapot tucked under one arm—a gift, from the king here—and steps inside the TARDIS to absolute silence.

"Adric?"

There's no answer, and he sets the teapot on the floor to look over the controls. Really, everything's just as he'd left.

"Nyssa?"  
There's just a surprising lack of the people he travels with around.

_"__Tegan?" _

He shouts this time, and hears the laughter from the girl's bedroom, softening as Tegan yells back at him. "We're in here, what do you want!?"

Sighing heavily, he crosses to the room and throws open the door without even knocking. "Look, I thought you three had up and left, I just got back, and—" And then he sees what they're up to, stashed away in here. "What are you _doing?" _

Nyssa stifles a laugh, and Tegan straightens herself up where she sits on the floor, Nyssa beside her, upside-down with her legs up in the air and against the bed, and Adric sitting on one of the beds. "I'm painting their nails, because it's an _important matter _that apparently was unbeknownst to them," she says, a matter-of-factly, and resumes brushing the paint over Adric's toenails.

The boy grins and flashes one hand towards the Doctor, wiggling his fingers. "Tegan offered to 'do my nails' as well!" he says proudly, showing off his dark green nails.

"Adric," the Doctor laughs. "Boys don't get their nails done."

He almost looks hurt by that comment, and retorts with, "I may not know, in fact, what this custom and pastime really is, but I believe that it is a profound way to express oneself, and should not be discriminated by the gender of said persons."

Nyssa starts giggling even harder than before, and the Doctor rolls his eyes as he steps back into the console room, closing the door behind him (because he really can't argue with that statement), and he begins to put in the new coordinates as he hears Tegan's voice, muffled, through the door.

"What do you think he'd do if we put Adric in some makeup, too?"

The Doctor chokes, and hits the wrong buttons.

* * *

I think that this is my favorite prompt so far, just because Adric with green nail polish on is a great idea. -Nessa


	8. 8: Stolen Ring (Ten)

8: A Stolen Ring (Ten)

-And a stolen bride to match. (10/Donna)

* * *

"If you want me to actually get anything done, then get out of the way!" she shouts, throwing a book into the console room and hoping that it'll hit him. Things are ridiculously messy around here, and Donna took it upon herself to try and straighten up at least _some _of the mess. Starting with her personal room (which, by the way, looked much like a disaster zone).

If the Doctor would only let her get some work done, this would all have been cleaned by now. She moves another stack of neatly folded clothes—half of which aren't even hers, or from the wardrobe room, so she wonders where exactly they came from—out of the way, hearing a sound of metal-on-floor as something drops down.

"What was that?" Donna asks, getting down to search underneath the bed for the missing object, whatever it may be.

"What's what?" the Doctor asks, popping his head in the doorway.

"I thought I told you to get lost, mister," she scowls, waving in his direction as she begins to wedge herself under the bed, arms sweeping the floor. "I thought I dropped something, that's all."

Her fingers hit something, and she grabs, pulling her arms back and sitting back on the floor. Holding the object up in the light, she realizes that it's the engagement ring from the wedding that didn't happen.

The one that didn't happen and involved getting kidnapped by a renegade Time Lord before having to fight off an alien race at the end of the day.

That one.

Hell, she forgot that she even had the ring, still.

"What'd you find?" the Doctor asks (still there), and he comes to crouch beside her and look at the ring in her hand. "Oh, that," he says simply. "I'm still sorry about that mess, you know."

"Didn't really like him anyways," she shrugs, shaking it off and folding her fingers around the ring again. "I don't really have any use for it anymore."

"It's still a nice ring. I'd hate to see it get tossed aside."

"You want it?" Donna asks him skeptically. "Take it."

She forces it into his hands a little _too _eagerly, he thinks, and stalks off to sit in the console room, asking where they're off too next. The Doctor slides the ring into his pocket and thinks that she still wants it, even if she can't admit it. He'll give it back to her one of these days.

He's got a stolen ring, and he's stolen the bride to match as well.

Maybe if he asks nicely enough, she'll wear the ring again just for him.


	9. 9: Broken Watch (Six)

9: Broken Watch (Six)

-When Peri breaks the watch, he tosses it aside, never thinking then that he'll use it in a later regeneration...

* * *

_"__I said I was sorry, okay?!" _she shrieks, crossing her arms. "I don't know what you'd want with an old fob watch, anyhow."

"It might have been useful, but now I don't know because you broke it, Peri!" the Doctor reprimands her, holding the watch in his hands. The glass is cracked—after all, it _is _rather old—and the hands refuse to move. He thinks to get it repaired, but doesn't want to bother with the hassle.

"Well, don't leave your things lying around, then!" she suggests loudly. "Maybe if you cleaned up after yourself once in a while, we wouldn't _have _these sorts of problems!"

He still looks at the watch, wondering what else he could use it for, but nothing's coming to mind. She notices now that he's ignoring her and keeps yelling at him—all too much like a nagging wife, he notes—and so he promises to take her somewhere nice, where they won't have to keep running and hiding and fighting. Maybe, they'll get some nice peace, quiet, and rest this time.

* * *

They don't.

"I can't believe that you did that," Peri frowns, and begins trying to peel the caked dirt off of her skin, and rub the sugary powder out of her hair. "You can't tell the _Emperor that you like his wife because then we get executed and accused of witchcraft!"_

"I was merely complimenting her looks," he defends lightly, and hopes that it's somebody else's blood that he's got all over his shins. "I won't try anything else, just...go take a shower, Peri. Please."

"Tell me again that I smell like manure and I'll shoot you without hesitation," she gives him a nasty glare and stalks off down the hall, slamming the door to the bathroom behind her. He waits a couple seconds, almost warning her, but she comes back out, shutting the door again.

"You really need to fix that one," she shouts. He smirks.

"Is that the one with the gopher in the cupboard and the wasps in—"

"Yes," she says stiffly, and goes to the bathroom across the hall to shower.

He fiddles with the controls and brushes some dirt from his palms. The Doctor catches sight of the broken watch lying where he left it before, and opens it to look at the damage again.

He'll set it aside, he thinks, and get it fixed later.

* * *

Four regenerations later, as he's handing the watch to Martha and giving her clear-cut instructions on how to avoid certain disaster and deal with himself not knowing who he is, he smiles to himself and thanks Peri for breaking the thing in the first place.


	10. 10: Missing Tooth (Seven)

10. Missing tooth: Seven

-It's only a scissor-crab looking thing, Ace thinks, and picks a fight with it. The scissor-crab wins.

* * *

"Ace, don't provoke that thing, it looks like trouble," he warns her, sticking his umbrella out to hold her back. The cavern is luminous, filled with fireflies that give the entire cave a dim glow, and there's a little horde of crab-looking creatures with metallic scissor-claws hustling about just a few feet away. The Doctor holds up a particularly large rock with some interest, and ignores her for a few more seconds.

"But they're kind of cute, Professor," she defends, snapping her hands in a cheap imitation. "With their little crabby claws. See? Too cute."

She crouches beside one as the other scuttle away from her in fear, wiggling her fingers a relatively safe distance from it. "See, you wouldn't hurt anyone, would you?"

"Ace, get away from that thing!"

"I don't see why you—"

He rushes to pull her away as the crab opens one scissor claw wide, firing a wide beam of energy into her.

Ace is thrown into the back wall and smacks her head hard against the rock.

* * *

"Ace?"

_Not here right now. Can't see. Who's talking to me? I don't remember what happened. _

_Oh. Yes, I do._

"Say something, come on."

_Everything hurts, and she's got a splitting headache. _

Ace blinks rapidly, sitting up on the floor of the TARDIS and immediately burying her head into her knees to stop the room spinning so much. She opens her mouth to talk but doesn't instead, and spits a tooth out into her hand, feeling the blood begin to fill her mouth.

"Aw, it knocked out a tooth," she groans, standing slowly. "Damn tough little thing."

"I told you not to provoke it!" the Doctor shakes his head. "You know where the bathroom is. Go and wash up a little, they thought you'd make a nice snack as well, it seems."

She's aware of the little cuts up and down her exposed arms, all stinging slightly.

"I've gotten in fights before," she laughs, "but this is a new one."

There's a nice gap towards the back of her mouth on the top, where the tooth was knocked out, and the cuts burn where the scissor-claws have pinched her. Her head still aches terribly, and she sighs, wincing as the antiseptic cleans out the cuts.

She opens the cupboard to put everything back when she's done, only to find a little hitchhiker scissor-crab stashed away among the extra toilet paper.

She screams and slams the cupboard door shut as quickly as she can.

_"__Professor!"_

* * *

(Note: Though these scissor-crabs are relatively small, I'm listening to old game music as I write, so that's where these came from. Shining in the Darkness' Kaiser Krabs are what I'm thinking of, so look those up for a nice little image, if you'd like.)


	11. 11: Horoscope (Nine)

11: Horoscope: Nine (really Ten if you count when this takes place)

-It's New_ Year's, _Rose thinks, _so what the hell? _She gets her horoscope read by a cheap fortune teller on the

street. Her mother tells her otherwise, and it's very surprising when the horoscope comes true.

* * *

Without a second thought, she places the money on the table between herself and the old woman, huddled underneath the awning of a shop that's been out of business for months to avoid the snow.

"Just a prediction," Rose asks. "Nothing much."

The woman nods, not concerned about the payment for now, and she sets the money aside.

"By the way, I'm a—"

The old woman holds up a hand to silence her, a foggy crystal ball on the rickety card table between them as Rose takes a seat in the cheap folding chair.

"Don't tell me," the woman says quietly, in a voice withered with age and care. "I already know."

For a moment, Rose feels like she should've known that. Fortune tellers aren't her thing, but it's New Year's, she thinks, so what the hell? Her first way down the road earlier that night, she'd remembered passing the old woman on the street, Jackie telling her daughter that it's a scam, and not to bother with it. It's cold out, though, and Rose thinks that it'll pay for some food or even a blanket, so she stops by the little stand on her way back home.

"A Sagittarius," the woman says as she takes one of Rose's hands, her voice a whisper above the wind blowing snow around the silent street. Her eyes are closed, but her voice is not blank, she is searching, seeing, thinking.

"That's right," Rose answers. "I am."

"You're very strong. Independent, but you wish you were more so. Energetic. Sociable, but you'd like to talk to new people. You want to be somewhere that isn't here. You seek progress, a new path in life."

She almost smiles, a little shocked into silence.

"Yes. That's all true."

"You will find what you seek," the woman promises her. "Soon. In the years to come, you will find adventure, romance, tragedy, and excitement. But, be careful what you wish for. You might get more than you'd like, miss."

Rose makes mental notes, but stops when she reminds herself of what her mother had said—after all, it's just a little prediction. Nothing serious. All smoke and mirrors.

So why does she feel like it's so true?

"Can you see any of the future?"

The old woman opens her eyes, and they're half-clouded, almost white. She beckons for Rose to move closer and places her thin, trembling hands on either side of the blonde's face, sighing deeply and closing her eyes again.

"I do. A tall man is in your future. Dark, mysterious. He is not what you think. You will meet by chance. You may think it merely a random encounter, but he will show you things you have never thought before. He will teach you and you will willingly learn."

Rose frowns, shaking her head. _Tall, dark man? Oldest trick in the book. _

She thanks the woman anyways, setting another coin down on the table and thanking her before shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket and starting back to the party.

The wind picks up when she gets to the corner, and Rose turns back to see if the woman's alright, considering what the storm might become.

The card table and the fortune teller are both gone, and Rose shakes her head, blinking. With a shrug, she turns to go back to the party, meeting her mother on the street. Their lift, apparently, isn't coming for them, and they both have to brace it through the storm in order to meet Mickey back at the flat. Rose bickers with Jackie for a little while, and they end up going their separate ways for the moment.

There's a strange man huddled near the alley there, and Rose wants to know if he'll be okay.

"You alright, mate?"


	12. 12: Fairytale Gone Wrong (Nine)

12: Fairytale Gone Wrong: Nine

Yes, sometimes the princess is rebellious, she thinks. But then the princess runs away with the prince for

an entire year without telling her mum and the princess is in a whole load of trouble.

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a girl named Rose. _

_She lived a very average life in a very average town. _

_And then, a man called the Doctor came and swept her off of her feet. _

_Rose couldn't say no, and went willingly with him to leave her life behind her. _

_And they saw the stars and galaxies go by, one by one. She remembered every single one of their adventures._

_But every princess has to come back down to Earth, and he took Rose home. _

_And when the princess runs away from home for a whole entire year, she's listed as missing, and her family and friends worry and worry and worry about her. _

_She came home after driving her mum mad with worry, and after everything was settled, Rose went off with the Doctor again. _

_Rose saw things she'd never think of seeing, and he filled her heart with happiness. _

_She'd never felt this way. _

_But then he made her go home to keep her safe, and she felt abandoned._

_And even if she was just a princess, Rose wanted to prove otherwise. _

_Despite what they said, the princess saved herself and went back to the Doctor. _

_She went back to him despite the odds and the Big Bad Wolf and she saved him. _

_In return, the Doctor saved her. _

_He changed before her, a transformation, and Rose wasn't sure what to think. _

_But she smiled, because this was still her Doctor. _

_And the princess and the Doctor lived happily ever after. _

_Until the end of time. _


	13. 13: Cliche (Two)

13: Cliche: Two

It's often said that "If you love something, let it go", and that "All's fair in love and war", but the Doctor

doesn't believe that. Nothing's been fair this entire escapade, though, and he doesn't want to let either of

them go. But he has to. (Very slight 2/Jamie/Zoe)

(And a slight disclaimer, as there are some quotes taken from _The War Games _slipped in here and there)

* * *

"_There must be something we can do?" _

_"__No, Zoe, not this time. Well...goodbye, Jamie." _

The Doctor tried not to react. If they knew he was upset, then they would only have a stronger will to stay. Of course, his resolve held strong until he saw the look deep in Zoe's eyes change. This was it, and she knew it. Though she managed a smile only seconds ago, she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment, and when she exhales, it's much shakier than she would have liked it to be.

This is it, the Doctor thought. Our time together will mean nothing to them. They won't remember their smiles, their adventures, or their experiences. None of it. Gone in a puff of smoke and the push of a button—so much time, wiped away because the Time Lords thought "well, why not?"

Maybe he's being selfish, but the Doctor doesn't want to see them go. No. Not now, and not ever.

Jamie looks away, doesn't want to meet either of their gazes. It might break him. Zoe makes a soft, snuffling sort of noise, and when she tries to speak, she can't seem to make the words come out just right. The Doctor squeezes the hand he still holds, and the other flies to cover her mouth, to stifle her cries.

"I'm sorry, I...I..."

"Don't be."

The Doctor sweeps her into his arms, and she cries and beats against his chest because _it's not fair _and all he can say is that he knows, he knows. That it's alright.

Even though it isn't.

"It's alright, Zoe. Really, it will be."

"It's _not,_" she says stubbornly, pulling back to sniffle and wipe at her eyes. She's so smart, the Doctor thinks, but she's really very young. She shouldn't have to go through this. Neither of them should, in fact.

For a moment, he wonders if it was all worth it. If, instead, he should have left them behind, back in their own little worlds, rather than tugging them along with him throughout the reaches of space and time. He wonders if it would have been better if their adventures had never happened. Maybe they'd be safe, then.

No, the Doctor tells himself, it was all worth it. Every single moment of running and smiling and chasing and wandering. He wouldn't give it up for the world, their times together. However, it looks like he'll have to whether he likes it or not.

"All's fair in love and war, you know," he says softly, chuckling, and Zoe sniffs and punches his shoulder.

"Don't say that."

"Nothing here's been fair, and you know it," Jamie counters. The Doctor pretends not to notice the tears forming at the boy's eyes, and gathers the both of them in another tight embrace.

"They say that if you love something, you should let it go," the Doctor adds gently, and the three are silent for a moment.

"Then I think," Zoe says, slightly squished between the two, "That anyone doing the letting go should be able to do it voluntarily instead of by force."

"I think so, too," the Doctor agrees, letting them both take a step back.

Jamie thinks hard—or, he tries—and so desperately wants another option, another choice, that the Doctor knows they don't have.

"But, Doctor, surely we could—"

He shakes his head, though, because any of their schemes, as brilliant as they are, won't get them out of this mess. Not this time.

"Goodbye, Jamie," he says, a bit sternly, putting those rebellious thoughts out their heads. Jamie nods lightly, knowing, and quickly gives the Time Lord a peck on the cheek.

"I won't forget you, you know."

The Doctor smiles. "I won't forget _you. _Don't go blundering into too much trouble, will you?"

If the young lad wasn't blushing already, he was now.

"Oh you're a fine one to talk," he said defensively, glancing towards the floor.

"Goodbye, Doctor," Zoe says softly, squeezing his hand. She steps back in, up on her toes, and kisses his cheek gently. "Will we ever meet again?"

Now, of course, the Doctor can feel himself start to cry, but he doesn't. He holds the tears back, if only to see them off before succumbing to his emotions.

"Again?" he asks, and Zoe grins, because here he goes, getting all technical and whatnot. "Now, Zoe, you and I both know that time is relative, isn't it?"

The word 'goodbye' falls off their lips, barely a whisper, and they both turn. A wave, the loud whirr of dematerialization, and they're both gone.

Gone, the Doctor thinks, and lets the thought slip in for just a moment, feeling sorrow and fear, and, oh, a mix of all things come over him. _Gone. Not coming back. Memories wiped. They'll forget. They won't know. _

_Anger._

He turns to the Time Lords, keeping his rage in check, and watches the monitors instead.

"They'll forget me, won't they?"

"Not entirely."

The Doctor wonders again, briefly, if maybe it would have been better off leaving the two behind, but he'll never know anyways.

If you love something, let it go, they say.

The Doctor doesn't see how letting it go will make things any better.

All it does is leave him wanting to love them more.


	14. 14: Ribbon (Seven)

14: Ribbon: Seven

Mel buys some hair ribbons in an intergalactic space market, and gets them stuck in her hair. He has to help

her pull them out.

* * *

"Doctor," she says quietly, emerging from the TARDIS hall as he leans over the console controls.

"Yes, Mel?"

"I need some help."

He turns to her, realizing that one fist is caught in a flurry of ginger curls, one bright yellow ribbon tangled in the right side of her hair, and a red one wrapped between the left side of her part and her fingers. He almost laughs, and she frowns.

"I bought these awhile ago, you remember?"

"I do," the Doctor says, setting his umbrella aside and coming to aid her.

"And so I thought I'd put them in before we went out, but that..."

"Didn't happen?"

"Exactly." She winces as he tugs on her wrist, trying to free her hand, and he leaves her for only a moment to bring her a chair to sit down in. She sits, still holding her arm up.

"Let go of the ribbon, Mel."

"I did."

"Oh."

He reaches deep into the wild curls, untangling her fingers gently and pulling her hand free, the mess of red ribbon still lost within.

"You're _pulling—"_

"Sorry," he apologizes, losing one hand in her hair and pulling out half of the ribbon. "Mel, what was the point of _knotting _it?"

"How else was I supposed to tie it in?"

"With your hair, I'd suggest not like that," he advises, trying hard to untie the knot. She winces as he yanks and pulls, finally dropping the red ribbon in her lap. "One more to go."

"Oh, boy," she sighs, feeling like she did when she was little, her mother trying helplessly to brush her hair into something that at least appeared orderly. "That one's a little tight."

The Doctor pulls on the ribbon's knot until Mel actually cries out, and she swats his hands away.

"Look," she sighs, "These things were awful cheap. Just cut it out, I don't need it _that _badly."

The scissors are a little too large for her liking, though, and she closes her eyes and pretends that they're not there. When there's a tug and a snip, she hopes it's not her hair.

When she opens her eyes slowly, there's a yellow piece of ribbon on her lap. The other is dropped alongside its missing half only seconds later, and Mel breathes a sigh of relief.

"It appears that the situation has been contained," the Doctor tells her, setting the scissors on the console. "And what have we learned from this experience?"

She rolls her eyes. "Not to mess with my hair?"

"No," he tells her, and bops her nose lightly. "Hair ribbons are dangerous, dangerous things."  
They laugh.


	15. 15: Renaissance (Four)

15: Renaissance: Four

And because Romana simply _cannot keep her grip on small animals, _they're stuck chasing a unicorn through

Renaissance-era Italy and Romana stumbles into more than just a chase.

* * *

"I told you to hold it still!"

"It bit me!"

"That's not an excuse!"

"Well, you did leave the door open," Romana sniffs, turning away from him. "It's not my fault that infant unicorns struggle so much when held."

"You were holding it wrong!' the Doctor sighs, exasperated, and points towards the TARDIS corridor. "Well, you might as well go and change. We have lost a unicorn in the Renaissance era, and by God, we're going to get it back."

She rolls her eyes, but says nothing, and goes to change, coming back in an extravagant green and red dress with elaborate sleeves.

"There," she says stiffly, straightening the skirt and looping a pendant around her neck. "Your turn. Let me fix my hair appropriately, and I'll be ready to go."

When he's changed as well, she's still in her room, standing before her wall mirror and fiddling with her hair, unsure of how to put it up.

"Romana," he tells her sternly, sighing. "We don't have time for this, come on!"

"What do I do with my hair?" she asks sharply, scowling, and he gestures to the TARDIS door.

"What does it matter? Just leave it down, it's been seven minutes already and we have just let a baby _unicorn _loose, let's go and find it, and you can do your hair later!"

She gathers her skirts in her arms, steps out of the TARDIS, and they split up, rushing around Italy searching for a unicorn.

They pray that no one else finds it before they do.

* * *

Romana has been searching through the forests on the outskirts of the city, her hair a curly mess from the loops she'd had it pinned in briefly before, and her feet sore from the shoes. There's a rustling in the bushes, and she parts the hedges before her to see the small unicorn eating a mouthful of leaves, its grey coat a dirty mess from the forest.

"Hold still," she whispers, stepping towards the animal before tripping, her skirts catching on the bush and sending her flying forward. Her hands scrambling for the animal, she swears as it dashes off into a clearing.

"I almost had it!" she hisses, and hurriedly unhooks herself from the bush, dashing into the clearing after the unicorn.

The wall surrounding the city rises before her, just on the edge of the clearing, and she watches the unicorn go rushing underneath a tall archway, dipping into the thin crowd there. She follows it, taking a sharp left and rushing after the animal up a series of steep steps. What she finds herself on is a pretty balcony overlooking the empty clearing, columns stacked along the edge. The creature stops and trips on the pavement, and she dives, scooping up the animal in her arms with a sigh of relief.

"Finally," Romana sighs, holding the animal tightly as it struggles. The edge of the balcony serves as a nice seat, and she holds the unicorn in her lap as she sits down, prying the shoes off of her feet and resting her ankles in the cool air. Before her, a painter sits, painting the view of the balcony. He peers back around his canvas to resume, and looks surprised to see her sitting there.

"I'm sorry," Romana apologizes, and moves her hair out of her face. "Am I in your way? I can move if you'd like," she offers.

"No, it is fine," he tells her, looking warily at the unicorn. "What is that?"

"Oh, um, it's a disguise," she says quickly. "A bit of fun for the, er, festival."

He must believe her, because he doesn't make any further comment. At least, until she moves to leave, and he objects. "Could you sit back down? I would like to paint you as well," he offers, and she sits back down.

"Of course," Romana says, sitting as still as she can. The unicorn has calmed down and lies still in her lap, leaning against her right arm for a moment.

She sits still, until she can feel a single eyelash stabbing her in her right eye, but with the unicorn in her hands, she can't necessarily hold it in place and ease her pain at the same time. Blinking rapidly, the problem is solved, but her watering eye produces a single tear that slides down and rests on her cheek. Though she wants to brush it away, it lingers, and she can't do anything about it.

She wonders where the Doctor is, and if he's looking for her.

* * *

He's been sitting in his TARDIS, still in full period dress, and he's been waiting nearly eight whole hours for her when she comes waltzing into the police box, unicorn on a thin rope leash, and a shocked look on her face.

"Romana!" he cries, relieved. "I've been looking for you everywhere, and you have the unicorn, and...what's wrong?"

She laughs, though it's forced, and shakes her head. "I think I just became a Renaissance painting," she whispers, and goes to change.

"What? Romana, I—_what?" _

She comes back and brushes her hair out to find him standing over the console with a terribly amused look on his face.

"Come and see this," he tells her, and gestures to the data base. "You really did become a classic."

She looks at the painting on the screen, and reads the label with a smile.

_The Woman with the Unicorn, Raphael, 1505_

* * *

(**Note: **I actually came across the painting during a search for the prompt, and thought that the picture did look a little bit like Romana, and that the unicorn was entirely plausible because...well, look at the show, this sort of thing happens all the time. But yes, I do encourage you to look it up, the resemblance is a bit funny!)


End file.
